Room for Two
by Meg Moore
Summary: 'She can't even bring herself to be upset about the twin bed; they'll put the limited space to good use...' A Once Upon a Time in the West post-ep.


Surprisingly, they don't go straight back to the flophouse.

They spend most of the day whiling away their time just being together; a husband and wife, holding hands, wandering the town, taking in the sights they didn't make time for when they were hell-bent on investigating their case. They stop into the touristy little curio shops that dot the unpaved street, buying knick-knacks and tchotchkes to put on the bookshelves when they return home, reminders of their impromptu honeymoon.

Castle buys her a set of delicate white gold earrings and wire-thin bracelets at the jewelry store run by a rotund, smiling woman in a flowery bonnet and a hoop skirt. In her gratitude, Kate whispers into his ear, detailing her plans for him when they're alone later, and he chokes on his breath a little, leaving her feeling smug and all too wound up already. They eventually retire for a delicious supper and a bit more whiskey than they would have indulged in on any other night, but they figure, why not? They're newlyweds and they're celebrating, and they're just so damn happy, they stop caring after their second glass.

It's dark out by the time they settle up for their meal, and Kate pulls him by his fingertips back to their room at the flophouse, glancing back at him occasionally, her teeth digging into her bottom lip at the thought of seducing her husband. Her _husband,_ for pity's sake. He's nothing but knowing smiles, the kind that tell her that he knows exactly what's in store for them upon their return. She can't even bring herself to be upset about the twin bed; they'll put the limited space to good use.

The door is barely closed when he's on her, his front pressed firmly to her back, his arms reaching under hers to cup her breasts roughly, his lips already attached to the exposed skin of her neck. Oh god, she's so ready for this; they both are. They have been all day, really, and right now, she's dying to be naked with this man.

She moves to undo the hooks holding her corset closed, when his hands suddenly grasp hers firmly and stop her before she can begin. Walking around to face her, he looks down, his eyes dark and wild, and simply says, "Not yet."

He uses the weight of his body to press her back into the closed door, and she props herself upon tiptoes to kiss him, sipping from his soft lips before sliding her tongue against his. Their fused mouths become rougher and more demanding with each pass, until she's gasping for air and he's kissing his way down the slope of her neck, his hands roaming her body shamelessly. He nips at the sensitive skin concealing her thundering pulse, inflicting just enough pain to make her hiss and squirm, once again desperate to be out of these clothes and laid out bare for him to do with as he pleases.

He slows down as he kisses her chest, his mouth gentle and his tongue curious as he explores the scarred flesh covering the heart that beats only for him. She feels him tug one of the straps down her arm to free her breast, drawing her taut nipple into his heat of his mouth and sucking on it sharply, a bolt of electricity traveling straight to her mid-section. His warm, wide palm engulfs her other breast, kneading it as he bites the soft swell of its twin, no doubt leaving a mark in his wake.

He drops to his knees before her then, looking up into her face, and yes, there's raw, untamed need there, but so much adoration, too. He loves her, every part of her, of that she has no doubt. She can only smile sweetly at him, wanting to take this moment to remind him that she knows how deep his feelings run, that his devotion and desire are returned wholeheartedly. She mouths the words _I love you_ while she pushes her fingers into his hair, scratching lightly and soothing the beast within him, his eyes drifting shut at the sensation. But she won't give him too much…she still wants him desperate for her, and it's time for him to get back to the task at hand.

When her fingers still, he opens his eyes on her again, and this time she murmurs, "I want you. _Now_."

He answers her request with a wolfish grin and simple nod, his right hand parting the slit of her dress before grasping her thigh firmly and smoothing his palm down the silken length of her leg. Both hands grasp her ankles then, his fingers splayed against her bare skin as they leisurely slide up her calves, the long skirts beginning to bunch around his elbows as he draws higher and higher.

She knows the instant he finds the garter on her right thigh, kept hidden under the layers of fabric all day. To say she's been looking forward to his reaction is an understatement, and he doesn't disappoint. His eyes widen and he lets out a quiet gasp, lifting the material to see the lacy blue and white band around her leg, He glances back up at her then, his smile wide enough to illuminate the dimly-lit room.

"Oh, my beautiful wife…did you wear this for me?" he asks.

"Of course. You know how I love to surprise you." She finishes with a shy little shrug of her shoulders. She knows he won't tease her for her sappiness, but she feels so bared under his gaze at times.

He presses his lips tightly together then, blinking rapidly, and she realizes that she's made him emotional, because she knows in her heart that no one has ever loved him the way he deserves to be loved. But she does. She loves him _that_ way, and she loves doing little things to prove it to him, every opportunity she gets

Leaning forward to place a lingering kiss just above the garter, he murmurs _thank you_ against the tender skin there, giving her no time to respond before his hands continue to run up her legs and grasp the sides of the scrap of material that passes for her underwear. He drags them down, excruciatingly slow in his movements, careful to leave the garter in place, until she's stepping out of them, bared to him under her dress.

Sensing her urgency, he wastes no time in lifting her skirt again, this time to expose her glistening sex to him, and he doesn't even give her a moment to wonder what he'll do next before he's burying his face between her legs, running the broad flat of his tongue between her folds to gather the moisture that's dripping steadily from her. Her head falls back against the door with a thud, a long, throaty moan escaping her lips.

He uses his hands to encourage her to widen her stance, opening her up further for him, and he flicks the tip of his tongue over her clit at the same time that one, and then two thick fingers slide into the slickness he's producing between her legs. Her knees wobble and threaten to give out as her body shudders, wracked with the overwhelming sensation of being expertly worked over, but the door at her back helps her to stay upright as he continues his assault on her nerves. She grips at his hair, not to too tightly she hopes, but she can hardly dwell on it as she begins to grind against him, riding his mouth in earnest.

He laps at her without pausing, savoring the unique bite of her arousal, his tongue never slowing, running up and down over her clit, again and again until she's gasping, already on the brink of an explosive release. She glances down to see him looking up at her, so clearly reveling in her response to his ministrations, the flush of her impending orgasm already creeping deep and red across her chest. She wants him to see it, wants him to know exactly what he does to her, the way her body reacts to his, effortlessly and gorgeously and always wanting more.

When she sees his tongue disappear between her folds one last time, when she sees his eyes close as he basks in her flavor, when she feels more than hears the hum from deep in his throat, his fingers thrusting particularly rough and deep one last time, she breaks above him, a breathy _oh my God_ escaping before she's incapable of any more speech. His mouth is relentless against her clit, coaxing every last little bit of sensation from the tiny bundle as if his life depended on it. She knows that he won't stop until she pushes him away, loving every last shiver and moan he can draw from her, content to prolong her pleasure as long as he possibly can.

Finally, she can't take any more, twitching and panting under his wicked tongue, and she pulls lightly on his hair, gasping out _enough_. He pulls away and gently lowers her skirt, rising to take her mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue painting hers with the evidence of her desire. It makes her giddy and a little breathless, tasting herself on his lips, and she's suddenly impatient to feel his skin, naked and warm and buried within her.

She struggles to break away, the kisses deep and intoxicating, but she finally separates from him enough to begin pulling him in the direction of the bed. He almost looks drunk, from the whiskey or the taste of her body, she can't be sure, his eyes black and glazed from his yet unsated lust.

When they reach the bedside, she holds his wrists at his sides for a moment and says "Let me, okay?" He can only nod, his straining erection draining the blood from his brain and stealing the words from his mouth.

She undresses him then, slowly, teasingly, piece by piece by piece, until he stands before her in just his boxers, the thin material doing nothing to mask the proof of how she affects him. She sits then, eye level with the bulging fabric, and when she nudges her fingers under the elastic of the waistband, she meets his covetous gaze, his breathing shallow in anticipation of what she'll do next.

Easing the material down his legs, her eyes remain on his, until the barrier between her and her prize is finally gone. She reaches out to caress the evidence of his desire for her, the length of him hot and smooth again her palm. Using both hands, her fingers wrap around his girth and grip him with just the right amount of pressure, stroking him steadily until he can't keep his eyes open any longer, his head dropping back as he hisses _ooooh Beckett_.

She can only smile, loving his reaction to her, how she knows precisely where and how to touch him. There's something savage and possessive about his voice when he calls her Beckett in the bedroom, and she adores it, can't get enough of it. When she leans forward to flick her tongue across the engorged head, the glossy bead of arousal he's produced under her ministrations fills her senses, his flavor spreading across her tongue. Her hands continue to work his shaft as she takes just the tip into her mouth, sucking hungrily and humming in pleasure.

"Oh God Kate, you've gotta stop," he moans, reaching down to grasp her shoulders and half-heartedly pull her off of him. He's too turned on, already walking that razor's edge, dangerously close to coming. He doesn't want this to be over yet, and neither does she, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love being in her mouth. She knows for a fact that she can reduce him to an incoherent puddle with just her lips and tongue, and maybe another time, she would just keep sucking harder and faster, encouraging him to thrust deeper into her throat, but not this time. This time, she heeds his warning, releasing him with a pop and looking up at him while lazily licking her shiny, swollen lips, and he can only stare at her in fascination.

She stands then, wordlessly directing him to sit on the bed and he obeys her commands unquestioningly, placing a pillow at his back when he leans against the wrought-iron headboard. When he's settled, she begins a slow, sensual strip tease for him, starting with the corset, then the multiple pieces of the skirt and bodice that must be unfastened and unbuttoned and untied to be removed. She takes her time, giving him an opportunity to pull back from the brink of his orgasm, until she's down to just the garter, the dainty piece of lace still clinging to her thigh.

Approaching the side of the bed, she simply says, "Give me your hand." He holds it out to her, and she takes it in her own hand, kissing his fingertips, sucking lightly on the rough pads, loving the digits that have so thoroughly loved her, her musky essence still clinging to them from his earlier attentions to her body. It makes her head spin, a burst of moisture flowing from her at the taste of herself on his skin.

She takes his hand then and drags it down the length of her body, between her breasts and along her belly, until she moves the same fingers that were just in her mouth between her legs. He takes a sharp inhale when his fingers slide into her drenched sex, and she knows exactly what he'll find there, knows that the hot, slick evidence of her arousal is coating his skin now. He can't help himself, dragging his fingers back and forth in her wetness, rubbing her clit with each pass, watching as she shamelessly rides his hand, her eyelids fluttering and her breath coming in short pants now.

"I want you to feel what you do to me."

His eyes fly back to hers then, and she knows he can't wait anymore, no more than she can. His voice is rough and uneven when he says, "Come here."

Sliding fluidly onto his lap, she straddles his thighs, his shaft gliding between her soaked folds and drawing a dark moan from both of them. Her impatience has reached a fever pitch and she's not willing to delay their gratification any longer, rising to position him at her entrance and sinking onto him before either of them can take another breath. Their twin gasps fill the otherwise quiet room as she spreads her legs further and takes him deep.

She presses her forehead to his as they still for a time, finally joined after a day of fun and teasing and wanting. He grips her waist as she revels in the sensation of being filled, so snugly, so perfectly. For a moment, she marvels at this man, at her good fortune that he is hers completely, at the love that overflows between them, at his ability to give her pleasure _and_ happiness. At one point, she thought she'd have to settle, perhaps trading one for the other, or accepting a watered-down version of both. But this man? He taught her that she could have it all.

Whatever thoughts occupy her mind, they take flight like so many butterflies when he begins to move with her, almost lifting her bodily from his hips, thrusting up as much as he can with his limited leverage, while dragging her back down onto his length, hitting those places deep inside of her that only he reaches. Over and over he takes her, and she goes willingly.

She moves against him now, setting her own rhythm, riding him like the cowgirl she's been portraying the past few days. Her hips rock against his, his girth stretching her so divinely, every bump of her pelvis against his sending a jolt of pure electricity into her belly. When he sucks one tight nipple into his mouth, playing it with his skilled tongue, she realizes that this is going to be over embarrassingly fast. She knows it, and she can't bring herself to care when it feels _so fucking good_, swaying and grinding against him. Her _husband_.

Lacing her arms around his neck as he reaches around her back, he pulls her fully into his chest then, their sweaty skin sliding and their lips brushing with each thrust of his flesh into hers. They're undulating against each other, their bodies meeting continuously in a most intimate kiss, the perfect cadence to bring both of them to an earth-shattering orgasm when they finally hear it.

_Squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak…_

They pause their movements as they meet each other's eyes. Wow. That's loud. This bed is loud. _They're_ loud.

They're too far-gone to stop though, and begin the heavenly rocking motion of their pelvises once again, him sliding deep and her sighing at the sensation, urging him on with each breathy gasp, and just as quickly, the noise begins again.

_Squeak squeak squeak…_

It takes only a split second for her to decide that she simply doesn't care. She doesn't care about the bed, she doesn't care about the squeak, and she doesn't care if anyone hears them crying out the other's name in ecstasy. This is her husband; she adores him and she desires him and she doesn't care who's privy to this expression of their love for each other.

"Don't stop. Oh God please, don't stop," she pants out as he thrusts particularly hard into her wet, willing body, and he can only answer with, "Never. I'll never stop."

The squeaking continues, of course, escalating in pitch and frequency as they gain momentum, and Kate is taken aback when an orgasm shudders through her without warning, her back bowing and her head thrown back as it moves through her in waves, a long, nonsensical string of curses tumbling from her lips as she rides it out, quite literally.

She slows her movements as she comes down, pleased to find that he's still hard inside her, because she's more than ready to do that again, and this time, she wants him with her.

"On top of me…please," she manages to gasp out finally, wanting the weight of his body on hers, for him to be the rider this time around, living out both of their cowboy fantasies in the most wonderful of ways.

Somehow, they shift effortlessly within the narrow, noisy bed, his body settling atop hers. She parts her thighs and wraps her arms and legs around him, drawing him close and kissing him deeply, both of them distracted for the time being by the pleasure to be drawn solely from their mouths. His length slides through her slippery folds once, twice, a third time before she shifts the angle of her hips upward and he sinks into her until he's completely sheathed within her body, both of them breathless at the sensation when he bottoms out against the soft resistance.

"Ah, Kate. Oh God, you feel so amazing."

He rolls his forehead against hers, staring at her, the love and affection and the forever of it all pouring out of his eyes. She makes a brief, silent apology for all of those times she teased him about it, told him it was creepy, because no one has ever looked at her like this, like she held the secrets of the universe in the palm of her hand. Like he wants an eternity with her, and then some.

And then there's no more thinking because he's thrusting into her again, rough and deep and she's mindless with it, her body a livewire of sensation. He wraps his arms around her, clutching her shoulders as he rides her hard, just like she wanted, and she loves that he knows, he always just _knows_, exactly what she wants and needs.

The bed comes alive with noise again, _squeak squeak squeak_, and she couldn't care less, hopes the whole damn dude ranch hears them in fact, because she'll never, ever feel shame for loving this man. She's already racing toward the cusp of another orgasm, her body beyond her control and relinquishing itself to the thrill of feeling her husband moving deep inside of her, drawing pleasure from her so effortlessly.

The tether finally snaps when he raises up on his forearms, riding her higher, his shaft sliding between her folds and against her clit with each downward thrust, and that's all it takes, her back arching and her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she peaks yet again, a strangled moan escaping her throat. Her inner muscles clutch at him desperately, and he can only hold on for a few moments more, his climax coming hot on the heels of hers, warm and thick, deep within her, a guttural _oh Kate_ falling from his lips as his bliss chases hers.

The aftershocks of their release pulse through them for a long time after, their mutual panting and gasping the only sounds the filling the room now. His body stays draped over hers, the weight of him soothing and welcome, their limbs still sweaty and tangled.

When he finally has the strength, he rises over her, his brow glistening and a sappy, dazed smile on his face. He dips to smudge his lips against hers, his love and satisfaction evident in every brush of his mouth, and she cranes her neck to give it all back to him. He kisses her deeply, finally moving to her cheek, down the slope of her jaw, nuzzling into the soft crook of her neck before he finally speaks.

"Think Tobias will comment on our squeaky bed tomorrow?"

She can't hold in her giggle. The bed _did_ get particularly loud at the peak of their lovemaking.

They shift to lie on their sides then, his front spooned to her back, no room to spare on the narrow twin bed. He pulls just a sheet over them, their hearts still calming and their bodies still cooling.

She snuggles into him as he wraps an arm tightly around her waist, and she can only sigh with the kind of contentment that comes from finding this connection with someone. This is what she'd been waiting for all day, this feeling of communion with her husband, and oh, what a feeling it is. It never gets old with him. _Never_.

She laces her hand through his and squeezes, before she whispers "Hey, Castle?"

"Mhmmm?" He's already drifting, she can tell.

"Sleep, babe. We have some more noise to make tomorrow."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Castle, Beckett, their honeymoon, and that rickety-looking twin bed? This was just begging to be written. I hope you enjoyed reading, and I'm always interested in hearing your thoughts, if you're so inclined._

_Morgan and Becca, do I even need to continue thanking you for everything you do for me? Whether it's your friendship, your beta services, or your endless encouragement, I appreciate you both more than you'll ever know._


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